Pirates and Thieves
by Angela Silvereye
Summary: Sorry to be odd, but I changed some things and added Long John Silver. Alan is a boy in this, and it centers more on George than anyone else.
1. The One Legged Sailor

Chapter One: The One-Legged Sailor  
  
George Cooper looked up from his ale, shifting his gaze from the rough wooden tabletop behind it to the figure that had just entered the tavern. His laugh caught in his throat and, the moment of shock passing, a slow grin began to spread across his face. Instructing his companions to stay where they were, he ambled forward with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.  
  
The man who had just entered was a peculiar man, of a sorts, obviously a seafaring one and therefore not too common among the occupants of the room, but what set him apart even more was the fact that he had only one leg. The other, cut off at the knee, swung stiffly from his waist, and he was supported on that side by a crude wooden crutch that he handled with such skill that one could not doubt that, despite the loss of one leg, he still possessed a great deal of strength. He had sidled into the tavern, or what one could call sidling for a crippled man, and after a quick scan of the room with his shifty eyes had settled down at the bar. Once there, his expression underwent a rapid change from shrewdness to delight, and it could be seen quite clearly that his conversation with the engaging barmaid was highly colorful, as he sweet-talked her rather more intimately than one would a more respectable lady. Smiling as though he had just witnessed a private joke, George came up to the old sailor and slid into the seat next to him, catching the eyes of the barmaid and jabbing his thumb away from them. Curtseying, she went to attend other customers, giving a glance over her shoulder and probably wondering what business a devilish old cripple could have with the King of the Thieves. Turning to see what had caused their lively conversation to be interrupted, the sailor's eyes lit on George, and he barked out a laugh. "George Cooper, the Rogue himself! Well, I'll be damned to Davy Jones. After all these years, His Majesty decides to honor me, an old pirate, with his presence."  
  
George grinned and slapped his old friend on the shoulder, chuckling to himself. "Don't act surprised, John. You were the one who decided to show up here tonight. I didn't even know you were still alive, you old rascal," he said affectionately. "Last thing I heard, you got washed overboard in that storm off the coast a few months back."  
  
"Long John Silver, washed away by a storm? Not a chance, by thunder! Them swabs as spread those lies is the same ones as marooned me– and on a treasure island, it turned out, too," he said, voice quieting to low whisper as he looked around for eavesdroppers. "Well, I puts that to me advantage, and next ship as passed I persuades to let me aboard, with part o' the treasure hidden safely among me belongin's. That's why I'm here, see," Silver said, changing the rhythm of his tale abruptly. "To buy me a ship and gather a crew so as to haul back the rest o' the doubloons. And to indulge in certain, ah– pleasures– that I ain't had in a long while," he said slyly, looking significantly over to the barmaid, who gave him a long, slow wink. He turned back to George. "And you! I hears they made you King, but I ain't a-knowed exactly how it happened. Seems to me, one day you're a scrawny cabin boy, the next the Rogue himself, by Flint's steel! That'll teach them lubbers on our old schooner, that will. Now they're ye loyal subjects too, at any rate!" He guffawed and, suddenly turning serious, sat back and surveyed George. "By the First Pirate, George, you've done yourself well. Well indeed."  
  
George warmed at the pleasure of having his old friend back. "Come on, Barbecue, I want to introduce you to a few people."  
  
"This is Lightfingers, Marek Swiftknife, Scholar, and Rispah, my cousin, who's Queen of the ladies who follow the Rogue," he said, introducing each in turn. "My friends, this is Long John Silver, known to his shipmates as Barbecue, former quartermaster of Flint the pirate." They exclaimed in delight, having heard his name spoken with awe many times, and Silver shook each of their hands, saying, "A pleasure, thank'ee kindly."  
  
"And this here's Alan. Page up at the castle, and likes to get away from all that royal duty every once in a while, so he favors us with his company. Not very talkative, mind, but a good listener, and a good friend to have at your back in a pinch, even if he is only twelve." The page Alan sipped his ale, not taking his eyes off of Long John as he contemplated the one-legged sailor. "Well, howdydoody, Alan," said Silver, after a pause in which they had both stared at each other, as if trying to place the other from a memory long ago. "You looks smart as paint, you do, and a right- sized lad such as I've never laid eyes on. Old Long John here'll bet you'd have made a fine cabin boy for some lucky ship out there."  
  
Alan nodded solemnly, but George could see his eyes light up at such praise. Long John still had a way of getting people on his side, he ruefully admitted. Especially the young ones.  
  
"Well," he said, turning to Silver. "If you want a ship, you'd best see old Thomas down at the docks. As for crew, well, I'm sure you're plenty capable of findin' your own, but a word of advice: don't take on a fellow with a scar under his eye. Past experience has given him a bad reputation, and you won't want his temper on a tr– on your kind of voyage. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better go and take care of some business–"  
  
"Avast there!" the old sailor roared. "You haven't yet told old Long John how you's a-come to be King o' this here rabble– beggin' yer pardon, gentle lady," he said, with a sideways bow towards Rispah. "Now, I ain't leavin' till you've told this old man the chain of events. Speak, by thunder!" and he shoved George back into his chair, sat back, and crossed his arms, looking expectant.  
  
George put on a lopsided grin to disguise his discomfort. He didn't like talking about how he had come to power, and he tried to put his old friend off. "Aww, come on, Barbecue, it's late, you should be gettin' yer sleep. An old man always needs sleep." He grinned to take away the sting of this barb. "And I still have work to do."  
  
The grizzled pirate wasn't deterred. "Don't pretend you keep reasonable hours, not the Cooper I knows. You could go a couple a nights without sleepin', and more, I reckon. As for me own sleepin' habits, well, you just lets me take care o' meself. Now, talk, George Cooper, or by the powers, I won' let ye leave this room!"  
  
The King of the Thieves glanced around furtively. It was late, the tavern was nearly deserted, and the only people left were the pretty maid behind the bar across the room and two drinking partners in the corner. He glanced at Alan. "You should be gettin' on back up to the castle, Alan, or you might get into trouble. As for the rest of you," he said, glancing at each of them in turn, "you know the story, and Long John and I have things to talk over that don't concern you." They all looked mutinous, and not one of them made a move to stand. "I said, go!" he growled, and, lest risk the wrath of the Rogue, they shoved back their chairs and meandered out of the room through various exits. George had not a doubt that there were some straining their ears at a keyhole, but their absence from the room was good enough. He leaned forward, hesitated, and in low tones began to tell Long John the story.  
  
"Well, it was like this. The old Rogue was a pretty good King, kept an eye out for his people and inspired a degree of loyalty, but he had some bad problems. Drink was one of them. One night he drank too much, went out of the bar, and mistook a noblewoman for a prostitute in the dark. He got too friendly with her, and she called for help. Three noble's servants came over and began to knock him about, but some of our gang rushed to his aid and ended up killin' all three of 'em. Turned out two of 'em had been the personal guards of a very powerful noble. The noble issued an ultimatum: either the Rogue would leave the country within three days, or his lordship would start a widespread manhunt and offer money for his capture. Well, His Majesty knew that he wouldn't be able to hide from my Lord Provost's men and the bounty hunters for very long, and he couldn't very well rule from outside the country, so he turned over the position to me, who was his main rival at the time. He was gettin' old anyway, and he knew I would make a good King. But that's not what he instructed me to tell everyone else. He told me to say that I had overthrown him and killed him in a struggle. His Majesty wanted everyone to think that I had gained the position by Thieves' Law, which states that one must kill the present King of the Thieves in order to become King himself. So that's what I told everyone, and that's what everyone thinks to this day. Tellin' 'em that I had killed him ensured me complete loyalty from those who would otherwise have sought to overthrow me. Now that he is "dead," his followers had no choice but to give me their loyalty. So began my reign as the Rogue." George glanced at the doors around the room, but not a sound came to his acute hearing from any of them. His friends must have become frustrated by the lack of comprehensive sound and gone up to bed. He gave an inner sigh of relief and glanced back at Silver.  
  
The one-legged man gave him a long stare and then burst out laughing. George looked at him, confused, wondering what he had said that was so funny. The snorting pirate wiped a tear from his eye and said, "George, me lad, I ain't a-realized until now jist how well I learned ye. Saints preserve us, you done just what I would've, had I been in the position. Take what ye can, when ye can, says I, and that there is the story o' me life." He leaned in closer, and whispered, "Now don't you worry, young master George, your secret's safe with me. Facts is, I likes a good secret now and then; it's what keeps a man young, says I."  
  
George was relieved. He had been sure his old friend and quartermaster wouldn't tell anyone, and he knew that the story he told others about his assumption of power would not ride with Silver. He could tell when George was lying, having taught him as a lad not only the ways of pirating, but of deception as well. As a matter of fact, Long John was the only one he knew that could tell when a person was lying without using the Gift, and that was a valuable ability to have.  
  
Silver changed the topic. "Now, about them lads down at the docks, what's their opinion of Flint's old quartermaster? I wants to make sure that I'm in good comp'ny when I goes down there tomorrow. S'there enough likely men willing to jine up with Cap'n Silver on a treasure hunt, and how reliable be they?"  
  
"Well, you're pretty much held in awe and respect, mixed with a bit of regret that you supposedly died. But that'll be laid to rest as soon as you go down there to sign 'em up. There's a lot that're new to the business of piratin', but they're quick lads, and they learn easily. You shouldn't have too much trouble gettin' a reliable crew." This settled, he and Silver sat for a moment, both silently thinking things over. Silver stood up.  
  
"I'd best be gettin' off to that, er, bed ye mentioned. I'll see ye in the mornin', yer Majesty." And with a smart, slightly sarcastic salute, he took the barmaid's hand and led her upstairs.  
  
George sat alone at the table, the last one in the room. The two drinking partners had departed halfway through his story, leaning on each other and staggering out the door. Staring abstractly into a corner of the room, he contemplated the sudden return of a man he had not seen in ten years, a man whom he had assumed was dead. True, Long John Silver was his friend, but George had not a doubt that, were they in a bad situation together, Long John would give him up in order to save his own skin. As a cabin boy, George had often been dragged along by his old mentor on hair-brained schemes to acquire more treasure, and they had most times ended up broke, half dead, or in jail. This time George could not afford to get involved in Silver's new design for gold. His responsibilities as the Rogue kept him busy enough without having a treasure hunt on his plate as well.  
  
The King of the Thieves thought it wasn't a coincidence that Long John had turned up at the bar tonight. He needed a favor, and a big one too, or else he had finally decided to take advantage of his past friendship with George as a way to milk him for money, supplies, a good word with a certain official, or something else to his advantage. It had been sheer tact not to mention what he wanted tonight, so as not to estrange his old friend first off, but George would be willing to wager ten to one that it would come out soon, possibly even tomorrow. Well, he would just have to listen and be impartial, discounting their friendship and reminding himself that he owed Silver nothing, whatever the former quartermaster might think. With the attitude of reaching a definite decision, George pushed back his chair and headed upstairs for bed.  
  
Unbeknownst to him, a small figure slipped out from behind the kitchen door and crept away into the night. 


	2. A Dream Forgotten

Chapter Two: A Dream Forgotten  
  
The page Alan slipped into the palace stables, contemplating hard. He didn't care a whit about how George had come to power, and, true to his honor, he would be a good friend and not tell. What he wanted to know was where he had seen that one-legged pirate, Long John Silver, before. He couldn't be certain, but the face of the old scoundrel stuck in his mind like nothing else had, even the history facts the old Mithran priests drilled into the pages until they could recite them perfectly. It was like a dream he had once had, an odd feeling of dejá vu, seeing this man's face. Where had he seen him before? Alan kicked in frustration at the door to one of the stalls, and a horse poked his head out, sleepy and confused.  
  
"Naow, you don't be wantin' t'do that," said a drawling voice from above. "Leave the poor beasts be, and let 'em get the sleep they deserve, the way ye lads ride 'em so 'ard."  
  
Alan glanced up. There in the hay loft, leaning against a beam with his arms crossed, at ease with the world, was the horse handler, Stefan, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face. "What be troublin' ye, lad? And why be ye comin' in so late? Not another drinkin' contest wiv His Majesty, naow?"  
  
Alan sighed. "I don't drink that much, Stefan, and you know it. Have you ever heard of Long John Silver?" Stefan's expression quieted, and somehow Alan didn't think it was because of confusion. "Well, do you?" he demanded, holding back his frustration when Stefan didn't speak for a few long moments.  
  
"Why be ye askin'?" said Stefan, slowly and with an odd note in his voice.  
  
"He was there tonight, at the Dancing Dove with George. Came in late in the evening and stayed to talk to George in private. I think I've seen him somewhere, only I can't remember where, or when." Stefan was still silent, staring at a niche in a wall with a look Alan couldn't ever remember seeing on his face before. Startled, Alan realized that it was fear.  
  
At last Stefan looked up. He took a small swallow, and then looked at Alan as though sizing him up. Finally he spoke in a low voice, close to a whisper, and Alan had never heard him so anxious before. "Whatever ye do, Alan, don't go lookin' for him. And perchance ye do meet him, never mention my name. Promise me this, Alan?"  
  
"Of course," said the page, puzzled. "But Stefan, wha–"  
  
"Say it!" Stefan pleaded urgently. "Say ye promise!"  
  
"I promise to not mention you to him," Alan said, putting emphasis on each word. "But who is he, why are people so in awe of him?"  
  
"He was the quartermaster of the great Flint, the pirate. An' he was the fiercest, most underhanded, sly dog o' them all. Strong methods he used to ensure the men's loyalty, strong and subtle. Why, when I remember the times..."  
  
"Wait a minute," Alan interrupted, a strange thought growing in his mind. "You were one of them? You were a pirate under Silver?"  
  
"Aye," said Stefan softly. "I was young then, tha' was before I discovered me true talent wiv horses. I thought to go to sea and bring home rich treasures, like so many of th' young lads do. But all it ever brought me was trouble."  
  
Alan's stunned thoughts showed across his face. Stefan, a pirate? Somehow he just couldn't imagine it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and then asked carefully, "So, why don't you want him to know you're here? I bet he'd love to have a couple of ales with an old shipmate of his–" but Stefan was shaking his head impatiently.  
  
"Ye don't understand, lad. See, I crossed him. Badly. And he never forgets a man who's crossed him. Usually he just takes yur finger, an' that's it, but I was too scared. I ran that night, and I was just lucky to escape him. If he can't have yur finger, he vows to take th' rest of ye. And no, I ain't tellin' ye what I did to make him so angry. You should be in bed, and if my lord Duke finds ye here, talkin' wiv me past curfew, I could lose my job. 'Sides, I got horses to tend." And with a crunch of hay, he disappeared.  
  
Alan stared after him dubiously. They had had late night talks in the stables before, and the hostler had never used that excuse to halt the conversation before. Gloom settled on the boy. It looked as though he wasn't going to find much more from Stefan, at any rate. Sighing, he went to bed.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The little boy wandered the shoreline, kicking at driftwood aimlessly and staring out across the ocean. He had heard there were dolphins out there in the deep blue, creatures almost as intelligent as humans, and twice as friendly. How he wished he could see one, but they didn't come in this close to shore. He dropped his gaze to the sand, searching for shells. If he brought back enough pretty ones, he could make a shell necklace for his mother; that would please her. Thoughts preoccupied, he started when he heard a faint shout from the way he had come. Blinking, he glanced back at the beach house and stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. A ship was anchored in the harbor. It hadn't been there when he had last looked back; it was as though it had appeared out of thin air. Squinting, he could see figures moving about rapidly on the decks, and he glanced towards the flag that was waving from the mast. Black, with a white figure that he couldn't make out. Definitely not a merchant ship. He panicked; it could be a pirate ship! And with his mother there, and his little brother... He raced towards the action, hugging the shoreline and trying not to trip over rocks. He had to get there, had to save them; not for a second did he pause and reflect that, as a small boy with little strength, he could do little to help his family. He just ran on.  
  
As he drew towards the fighting, he saw his father, sword in hand, fighting the pirates with all his strength. And his mother wasn't standing by idly and watching, either. Yelling furiously, she had plowed into the fray, swinging her frying pan with such skill and deadly accuracy that there were few who dared to come near her. Pausing to catch his breath, the little boy drew his knife, intending to bring down as many as he could with his speed and agility, but before he could join the chaos, a shot rang out. His mother fell to the ground, dead, her frying pan still tight in her grip. His father, seeing this, screamed with rage and grief and flew into such a whirlwind of attacks and thrusts that the pirates were forced to retreat to their ship. Panting, the man collapsed on the ground, only managing to drag himself over to his lifeless wife, caressing her still face and sobbing into the sand.  
  
All the little boy could do was stare, numb. His knife fell from his grip and he sat down on the ground, hard. It had happened so quickly; how could it have happened? It must be a dream, he told himself, refusing to let himself look at her. It must be a nightmare. Oh, please, let it be just a dream...  
  
But he never woke up.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Gasping, Alan sat up in his bed, the sheets clinging to him in cold sweat. The nightmare was still running through his mind, and he forced himself the wipe the tears from his eyes. He hadn't had that one in a while. He thought he had almost forgotten the memory of that horrible day, the day his life was forever altered by marauding pirates. For some reason the memory had resurfaced, in a dream, no less. What could have prompted it? Then he realized. Closing his eyes, a face resurfaced from the memory that had been buried so long. The face of the pirate leader, the man who had held the gun that shot his mother...  
  
The face of Long John Silver.  
  
Rage gripped him like a glove as he realized that, just hours ago, he had been sitting at the very same table as his mother's killer and had done nothing. He had been in the presence of her murderer, and all he could think of at the time were the compliments the old sea shark had given him. Inside he had glowed with pride at being recognized by a man so highly regarded as an old friend of George's. How could he have been so deceived? And George, how could he be friends with a man like that? Alan lay back on his pillow, his emotions wired. He couldn't go back to sleep. This problem needed serious contemplation. 


End file.
